LIMERICK
RAKE
I am a yound fellow that's easy and bold.
In Castletown Conners I'm very well known.
In Newcastle West I spent many a note.
With Kitty and Judy and Mary.
My father rebuked me for being such a rake.
And spending my time in such frolicsome ways.
But I ne'er could forget the good nature of Jane,
Agús fagaimid siúd mar atá sé.
My parents had reared me to shake and to mow,
To plough and to harrow, to reap and to sow,
But my heart being airy to drop it so low
I set out on high speculation.
On paper and parchment they taught me to write,
In Euclid and grammar they opened my eyes,
And in multiplication in truth I was bright,
Agús fagaimid siúd mar atá sé.
If I chance for to go to the town of Rathkeal,
The girls all round me do flock on the square,
Some give me a bottle and others sweet cakes,
To treat me unknown to their parents,
There is one from Askeaton and one from the Pike,
Another from Arda, my heart was beguiled,
Tho' being from the mountains her stockings are white,
Agús fagaimid siúd mar atá sé.
To quarrel for riches I ne'er was inclined.
For the greatest of misers must leave them behing.
I'll purchase a cow that will never run dry,
And I'll milk her by twisting her horn.
John Damier of Shronel had plenty of gold,
And Devonshire's treasure is twenty times more,
But he's laid on his back among nettles and stones,
Agús fagaimid siúd mar atá sé.
This cow can be milked without clover or grass,
For she's pampered with corn, good barley and hops
She's warm and she's stout, and she's free in her
paps,
And she'll milk without spancel or halter.
The man that will drink it will cock his caubeen,
And if anyone coughs there'll be wigs on the green,
And the feeble old hag will get supple and free,
Agús fagaimid siúd mar atá sé.
If I chance for to go to the market at Croom,
With a cock in my hand and my pipes in full tune,
I am welcome at once and brought up to a room, where
Bacchus is sporting with Venus.
There's Peggy and Jane from the town of Bruree,
And Biddy from Bruff and we all on the spree,
Such a combing of locks as there was about me,
Agús fagaimid siúd mar atá sé.
There's some say I'm foolish and more say I'm wise,
But being fond of the women I think is no crime,
For the son of King David had ten hundred wives,
And his wisdom was highly regarded.
I'll take a good garden and live at my ease,
And each woman and child can partake of the same,
If there's war in the cabin, themselves they may blame,
Agús fagaimid siúd mar atá sé.
And now for the future I mean to be wise,
And I'll send for the women that acted so kind,
And I'll marry them all on the morrow by and by,
If the clergy agree to the bargain.
And when I'm on my back and my soul is at peace,
These women will crowd for to cry at my wake,
And their sons and their daughters will offer their
prayer,
To the Lord for the soul of their father
The Bogman's Pipe
THE GLENDALOUGH SAINT
In Glendalough lived an old saint,
Renowned for his learning and piety.
His manners were curious and quaint,
And he looked upon girls with disparity.
CHORUS
Ri fol di dol, fol di dol day,
Ri fol di dol, fol di dol laddy,
Ri fol di dol, fol di dol day,
Ri fol di dol, fol di dol laddy.
But as he was fishin' one day,
A-catchin' some kind of trout, sir,
Young Kathleen was walkin' that way
Just to see what the saint was about, sir.
'You're a mighty fine fisher, says Kate,
'Tis yourself is the boy that can hook them,
But when you have caught them so nate,
Don't you want some young woman to cook them?
Chorus
"Be gone out of that", said the saint,
"For I am a man of great piety,
Me character I wouldn't taint,
By keeping such class of society.
But Kathleen wasn't goin' to give in,
For when he got home to his rockery,
He found her sitting therein,
A-polishing all of his crockery.
Chorus
He gave the poor creature a shake,
Oh, I wish that the peelers had caught him:
He threw her right into the lake,
And of course she sank down to the bottom.
It is rumoured from that very day,
Kathleen's ghost can be seen on the river;
And the saint never raised up his hand,
For he died of the right kind of fever.
Chorus
The Bogman's Pipe
THE
HILLS OF KERRY
CHORUS
The palm trees wave on high along the fertile shore
Adieu the Hills of Kerry I ne'er will see no more.
Oh why did I leave my home, oh why did I cross the sea.
And leave the small birds singing around you sweet Tralee?
The noble and the brave have departed from our shore
They've gone, the've gone to fight the war where wild,
the canons roar.
No more they'll see the shamrock, the plant so dear
to me,
Or hear the small birds singing around you sweet Tralee.
Chorus
No more the sun will shine on that blessed harvest morn
Or hear our reaper singing in a golden field of corn
There's a balm for every woe and a cure for every pain,
But the smiling face of my darling girl I will never
see again.
Chorus
The Bogman's Pipe
THE KERRY RECRUIT
About four years ago I was digging the land,
With my brogues on my feet and my spade in my hand.
Says I to myself what a pity to see
Such a fine strapping lad footing turf in Tralee.
CHORUS
With me tur-rum me a, me tur-rum me a,
With me tur-rum me ur-rum me tur-rum me a,
So I buttered my brogues and shook hands with my spade,
And I went to the fair like a dashing young blade,
When up comes a sergeant and asks me to list
'Arragh, sergeant a gra, put the bob in my fist.'
'O ! then here is the shilling, as we've got no more,
When you get to headquaters you'll get half a score.'
'Arragh, sergeant, says I, if I give it a try,
You'd not wish to be quartered, and neither would
I.'
Chorus
And the first thing they gave me it was a red coat,
With a wide strap of leather to tie round my throat,
They gave me a quare thing, I asked what was that,
And the told me it was a cockade for my hat.
The next thing they gave me they called it a gun,
With powder and shot and a place for my thumb;
And first she spit fire and then she spit smoke,
Lord, she gave a great lep and my shoulder near broke.
Chorus
The next place they sent me was down to the sea,
On board of a warship bound for the Crimea.
Three sticks in the middle all rowled round with sheets,
Faith, she walked thro' the water without any feet.
When at Balaklava we landed quite sound,
Both cold, wet and hungry we lay on the ground.
Next morning for action the bugle did call
And we got a hot breakfast of powder and ball.
Chorus
Sure it's often I thought of my name and my home
And the days that I spent cutting turf, och ma-bhrone,
The balls were so thick and the fire was so hot,
I lay down in the ditch, boys, for fear I'd be shot.
We fought at the Alma, likewise Inkermann,
But the Russians they whaled us at the Redan.
In scaling the walls there myself lost my eye,
And a big Russian bullet ran off with my thigh.
It was there I lay bleeding, stretched on the cold
ground,
Heads, legs and arms were scattered all around.
Says I, if my mam or my cleaveens were nigh
They'd bury me decent and raise a loud cry.
Chorus
They brought me the doctor, who soon staunched the
blood
And he gave me an elegant leg made of wood,
They gave me a medal and ten pence a day,
Contented with Sheela, I'll live on half pay.
Chorus
The Bogman's Pipe
KELLY, THE BOY FROM KILLANE
'What's the news? What's the news? O my bold Shelmalier,
With your long-barrelled gun of the sea?
Say what wind from the sun blows his messenger here,
With a hymn of the dawn for the free ?
'Goodly news, goodly news, do I bring youth of Forth
Goodly news shall you hear, Bargy man.
For the boys march at morn from the south to the north,
Led by Kelly, the boy from Killane.
'Tell me who is that giant with the gold curling hair,
He who rides at the head of your band ?
Seven feet is his height, with some inches to spare,
And he looks like a king in command.
'Ah, my lads, that's the pride of the bold Shelmaliers,
'Mong our greatest of heroes, a man.
Fling your beavers aloft and give three ringing cheers
For John Kelly, the boy from Killanne.
Enniscorthy's in flames, and old Wexford is won,
And the Barrow to-morrow we cross.
On a hill o'er the town we have planted a gun,
That will batter the gateway of Ross.
All the Forth men and Bargy men march o'er the heath,
With brave Harvey to lead on the van.
But the foremost of all in the grim gap of death,
Will be Kelly, the boy from Killanne.
But the gold sun of freedom grew darkened at Ross,
And it set by the Slaney's red waves;
And poor Wexford, stripped naked, hung high on a cross,
And her heart pierced by traitors and slaves.
Glory O, glory O, to her brave sons who died,
For the cause of long down-trodden man.
Glory O, to Mount Leinster's own darling and pride,
To John Kelly, the boy from Killanne.
The Bogman's Pipe
THE ROSE OF TRALEE
The pale moon was rising above the green mountains,
The sun was declining beneath the blue sea,
When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain,
That stands in the beautiful vale of Tralee.
She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,
Yet it was not her beauty alone that won me,
Oh no, 'twas the truth in her eye ever dawning,
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.
The cool shades of evening their mantles were spreading,
And Mary, all smiling sat listening to me,
The moon through the valley, her pale rays were shedding,
When I won the heart of the Rose of Tralee.
She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,
Yet it was not her beauty alone that won me,
Oh no, 'twas truth in her eye ever dawning.
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.
In the far fields if India mid war's dreadful thunder,
She was a solace and comfort to me.
But the pale shades of death has now torn us asunder,
I'm lonely tonight for my Rose of Tralee.
She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,
Yet it was not her beauty alone that won me.
Oh no,`twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning,
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.
The Bogman's Pipe
BOYS
FROM THE COUNTY MAYO
Far away from the land of the Shamrock and heather
In
search of a living, as exiles we roam
But whenever we chance to assemble together,
We think of the land where we once had a home:
But these homes are destroyed and our soil confiscated,
The hand of the tyrant brought plunder and woe;
The fires are now quenched and our hearts desolated,
In our once happy homes in the County Mayo.
Long years have now passed since with hearts full
of sorrow,
The of the Shamrock we left far behind;
But how we would like to go back there to-morrow;
To the scenes of our youth, which we still bear in
mind;
The days of our childhood, it's now we recall them.
They
cling to our vision wherever we go;
And the friends of our youth we will never forget
them,
They too ar exiled from the County Mayo.
From historic Killala, from Swinford to Calla,
Ballyhaunis and Westport and old Castlebar,
Kiltimagh and Claremorris, Belmullet and Erris,
Kilkelly and Knock that's famed near and far;
Balla, Ballinrobe, Ballina and Bohola,
Keeloges and Foxford a few miles below
Newport and Cong with old Straide and Manulla,
Charlestown too, in the County Mayo.
Then on with the cause 'till our aim is accomplished,
Those who would fault us are cowardly and mean,
So stand in the fight 'till the tyrant is vanquished
Expelled
from our Dear little Island of Green.
With the foes of our land we have fought a long battle,
Soon they will get their last death-dealing blow,
When old Nick has received them, their brains he will
rattle,
For the wrongs they have done to the County Mayo.
From Galway to Dublin, from Derry to Kerry,
New York and 'Frisco and Boston also,
In Pittsburg, Chicago, Detroit and Toronto,
There are stout-hearted men from the County Mayo.
Now boys, pull together in all sorts of weather
Don't show the white feather, wherever you go,
Act each as a brother and help one another
Like true hearted men from the County Mayo.
The Bogman's Pipe
FR. O' FLYNN
Of priests we can offer a charming variety
Far renowned for learning and piety
Still I'd advance you without impropritety
Fr O'Flynn is the flower of them all
CHORUS
Here's a health to you father O'Flynn
Slainte is slainte is slainte again
Powerfullest preacher and tenderest teacher
Kinliest preacher in old Donegal
Don't talk of your provost and fellas of Trinity
Famous forever at Greek and Latiny
Fakes at the divils and all of divinity
Fr. O'Flynn make hares of them all
Come I venture to give you my word
Never the likes of his logic was heard
Down from mythology into thialogy
Trottin concology if he'd the call
Chorus
Oh Fr O'Flynn you've the wonderful way with you
All the old sinners are wistful to pray with you
All the young childer and wildful to play with you
You've such a way with you Father a' mhac
Still for all you're so gentle a soul
God you've your flock in the grandest control
Checking the crazy ones, coaxing the easy ones
Lifting the lazy ones on with the stick
Chorus
And though quite avoiding all foolish frivolity
Still at all seasons of innocent jollity
Where was the playboy could claim an equality
At comicallity Father with you
Once the bishop looked brave at your jest
Till this remark set him off with the rest
Is it the gaeity all for the laity
Cannot the clergy be Irishmen too
Chorus
The Bogman's Pipe
BARNEY
HARE
CHORUS
Oh, I'm Barney Hare, from the County Clare, In Ireland
I was born, oh
I pawned my coat to pay the boat, and I landed here
this morning.
Shure when I landed on the quay, I found myself in
danger;
Some boys began to follow me, for the knew I was a
stranger.
Says one of them, 'Give me that stick' from me he
tried to snatch it,
So I brought it down upon his crown, with a blow that
made him scratch it.
Chorus
Tho
I'm Barney Hare, from the County Clare, I am not such
a big fool, sir.
You may think my manners strange and quare, tho in
youth I went to school, sir;
Let any man just try a trick on Barney Hare from Clare
O
Sure I'd give him a wallop from this ould stick that
would make him blink and stare, O
Chorus
I
walked in peace and quietness till I came to the big
church steeple,
Says a fellah to me: 'Keep in your feet and don't
be trippin' the people'
Says I 'My man give me none of your buck' says he:
'Give me none of Blarney'',
I gave him a clout on the flat of the snout, Says
I: 'Remember Barney'.
Chorus
Sure
'tis I can dance and Irish reel, or the job of journey
work, sir;
I have got a heart as true as steel, sure I bate the
fiercest Turk, sir.
In the market square or at the fair all the latest
songs I sing, sir;
For I'm Barney Hare, from County Clare, who can make
the rafters ring, sir.
Chorus
The Bogman's Pipe
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